


Issues

by WonderWonderBats



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional Sex, F/F, Incest, Mommy Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-07
Updated: 2013-09-09
Packaged: 2017-12-25 21:10:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/957637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WonderWonderBats/pseuds/WonderWonderBats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emma doesn't feel like she's meeting any of Regina's needs in bed. When communication and attempts to "spice things up" fail, Emma is left feeling defeated. That is, until Regina spills a secret about her innermost desires when she thinks Emma is asleep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

1.

Every night, it was exactly the same. Regina would roll over, body slicked with sweat, her once—immaculate hair sticking to her face. It was a wondrous sight, really, but Emma could never bring herself to fully enjoy it. Maybe it was because Regina always looked so irritated, or maybe it was because she never complimented Emma on her performance (feedback is important!) but either way, it made her feel dreadfully self-conscious. 

“Regina,” Communication was key in relationships, right? “can we...talk about something?”

Emma wasn’t sure what reaction she was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t a death glare and a condescending hairflip.

“What?” 

Regina sounded exasperated, and Emma shrunk back immediately. Looking down, she toyed with the lace trim on the blanket, trying to work up the courage to actually talk about her feelings. She wanted to scoff at herself, because Emma Swan didn’t talk about her feelings. She drowned them in alcohol and denial. That was better, safer, but she’d already walked into the issue and she couldn’t back out now. Because if she did, Regina would find some roundabout way to call her a pussy, and that would bruise what little ego she had. 

No, Emma couldn’t have that. So she took a deep breath, looking up and trying to ignore the irritated look on Regina’s face. 

“It’s just...I mean, I don’t know. You just...never seem very satisfied.”

The words hung in the air, and Reina merely raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

“What are you talking about? Dear, it would take more effort to fake it than to tell you what you were doing wrong.” 

Emma’s eyes widened, and she was left speechless. Well, at least her technique was on point. 

“No, I know. That’s...that’s not what I mean.” 

Emma trailed off, thoughts jumbled in the wake of Regina’s...brutal honesty. 

“Spit it out.” 

“You just seem...uninterested!” 

Maybe that wasn't the right word, Emma thought, biting down hard on her lip and turning away. It was close enough, because Emma couldn’t remember a time when she’d seen enthusiasm light up Regina’s face. She came, of course (at least she wasn't faking it), but it almost seemed like she was doing it out of the sheer necessity for physical intimacy. The thought was enough to make her want to bolt out of the Mills mansion and never look back.   
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Miss Swan.” 

Really? Emma raised her eyebrows in disbelief. Did she just call her Miss Swan? Like they were back to day one, when Emma was cutting branches off Regina’s precious apple tree with a chainsaw. Like they hadn't been fucking for months, like they hadn't done a lot of things…

“I’m sorry, are we only on a first name basis when my head is between your legs, Madam Mayor?” 

Regina’s face became a canvas of emotions. Among them, Emma pinpointed anger, disbelief, and a trace of sadness that made her feel just a little bit guilty about bringing up the issue. Emma expected to be yelled at, or scolded, or something. Anything to break the silence was welcome, but instead of noise, all she got was a shrug. 

A fucking shrug. 

“That’s it? That’s all? You’re not going to say anything?”

Regina made a show of sighing and throwing her hands up in defeat, 

“What is there to say? You’re insecure about your…” she waved her hands about, pretending to search for the right word, “abilities. But trust me, dear. You do just fine.” 

Emma knew she was being placated, and it almost hurt, almost, but then Regina smiled and moved closer. There was nothing incredibly sincere about her expression, and Emma opened her mouth to speak, but was cut off by Regina’s mouth on her own. 

“Regina--” 

“I said you’re doing fine. I don’t want to discuss this anymore. Go to sleep.” 

A harsh bite on her bottom lip, and Regina shoved her away. Rude, Emma thought, staring at her as she turned over onto her side. She was facing away from her, something she never did. Emma groaned, knowing she should have just slid out of bed and scoured the streets for a 24-hour liquor store. 

“Fine. Have it your way,” she grumbled, pulling the blankets up to her head. 

Communicating fucking sucked. 

\--

Emma had made sure to be up and out of Regina's bed before the other woman could even open her eyes. It was a difficult task, because Regina was an unusually like sleeper. Emma had found that out the hard way (during the early days of their affair when Regina had referred to her as Miss Swan), when she managed to trip over her own clothes while getting out of bed. Regina had been terribly put-out when she'd woken up, and didn't hesitate to give Emma quite the earful. 

"I'm not like your one-night stands, Miss Swan" she'd said, "at least say goodbye." 

There had been a hint of desperation in her voice, and Emma felt so guilty afterwards that she actually spent money on flowers and had them delivered to Regina's office. In hindsight, she found her attempt at an apology pathetic, and so did the mayor, because she found the bouquet of roses stuffed in a trashcan outside of Granny's. 

Ouch.

It was the last time Emma ever paid $40 for flowers. 

With that painful memory in mind, Emma did her best to slip from the bed unnoticed. She was excessively conscious of the way the bed dipped when she shifted her weight, and she was sure she heard Regina stir--her heart raced for that split second, eyes shut tight, and she was sure she’d fucked up again--another second passed, and there was silence. Emma swallowed an exhale of relief, standing on unsteady legs.

 

Clothes, clothes, clothes, she thought, looking wildly, blindly around the room. She hated the blackout curtains Regina insisted on having, she hated not waking up to some fucking sunshine. Regina kept her room looking like a crypt, and with a glance over her shoulder in the woman’s direction, she scowled openly. Miss Crypt Keeper, she quipped, chuckling mentally at her snark. Her eyes were wide, struggling to adjust to the darkness of the room. A part of her wished Regina’s desire for order and neatness transferred over to their bedroom activities. She imagined the mayor slowly stripping Emma of her clothes, folding each article with practiced precision. 

It would make sneaking out at the crack of dawn so much easier. 

Instead of looking around, blind as a bat like an idiot, Emma decided to rely on touch instead. Bending down, she reached out and her fingertips brushed against fabric. A fucking pile of fabrics. Among them, she felt the soft silk of Regina’s blouse, the cotton of her blazer, and finally at the very bottom, a pair of jeans. Yes, Emma thought, knowing it would only be a matter of time before Regina’s alarm clock went off. Technically, Regina wasn't really considered mayor anymore, so technically she didn't have to be at her office so early. But she always did, a habit she couldn't really bring herself to break. It was a little sad, and Emma briefly thought of Regina cooped up in her office, sifting through papers that she’d already filed months ago. 

Shit, Swan, don’t bum yourself out. 

She picked up her jeans with shaking fingers, and smoothed them out. One leg at a time, Emma struggled to balance. She cursed herself for wearing jeans so fucking tight, but somehow she managed to get her ass into them without falling flat on her face. Shirt, shirt, shirt, Emma can’t find the damned white tank top among the pile of discarded pieces of Regina’s powersuit. She wondered--fleetingly--if grabbing Regina’s silk blouse would be a bad idea. It wouldn't be the first time she’d pilfered a garment from the mayor. She risked a glance at the digital clock on Regina’s bedside table, and the obnoxiously bright red letters read 6:45 a.m. Fifteen minutes until the thing started screaming.   
Think fast, Swan. 

Throwing a glance at Regina over her shoulder, Emma picked up the garment and slid it on fast. The material felt like heaven, and she fastened the buttons as fast as her fingers would allow. Finding her boots was easier--those were by the door, mingling with Regina’s stilettos. She pulled them on, and god, she knew how much Regina hated them. And her red pleather jacket, which was downstairs hanging off the coat rack. 

She grabbed it, and was gone. 

\--


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ||TRIGGER WARNING: SEXUAL ABUSE AND PARENT/CHILD INCEST||

2.

“Where have you been all night?”

Emma was surprised her mother didn’t already know. She wasn’t exactly a master of subtlety, and she knew she’d stumbled into the apartment at 3 a.m., sporting bruises and swollen lips. 

But no one ever asked any questions, and Emma knew it was better that away. 

“Um...you know, Ruby wanted to go out,” the lie came easy. It was one she’d always had prepared, ready for when Snow would eventually become a concerned mother. Or a snoop--that was a more appropriate word for it. Part of Emma felt bad for harboring such hostility towards Snow White and Prince Charming. But she’d spent twenty-eight years without them, and seeing them as parents when she’d spent months involved in the drama of their love affair was damn near impossible. 

So she didn’t do it, but she acted like she did. 

Snow raised an eyebrow, waiting for further explanation. 

“Neither of us could drive home...I just crashed at her place.” 

Snow crossed her arms, and the gesture was so motherly and so fucking condescending that Emma couldn’t stand it. 

“What? Would you rather me have driven home smashed? Excuse the hell out of me for being safe.” 

She hadn’t meant to sound so angry, but all she could think about was Regina and how she always seemed so unsatisfied and she was second-guessing herself as a lover. Having Snow look at her like she’d killed a man and failed to hide the body was just making her desire to punch a hole in the wall even stronger. 

“Emma, I didn’t mean--” 

Emma couldn’t resist rolling her eyes. She wasn’t in the mood for backpeddling or apologies. All that sounded appealing was curling up in her own bed, and shutting the world out for the rest of the day. After what happened with Regina (her cheeks still begged to burn in embarrassment when she thought about it), she knew the mayor wouldn’t come calling anytime soon. She’d go days, weeks, without so much as a glance in Emma’s direction if they passed each other on the Storybrooke streets. That was just how Regina was. There was no changing it, and Emma knew better than to try. 

“I don’t--I know what you meant. I just don’t want to hear about it right now.” 

Emma crossed her arms, daring Snow to say something else. The defeated look on the woman’s face was all Emma needed, and she pushed past her with ease. 

“Wait,” 

Oh, for fuck’s sake--

“If...anything is wrong, you can always talk to me. Okay?”

Snow’s expression was desperate, dripping with “you know that right? I’m a good mother...right?” And Emma couldn’t help feeling a little bit guilty. To avoid snapping again, she merely nodded, but the gesture was stiff. She bit the inside of her cheek, stalking off to her bedroom like a teenager having a temper tantrum. She hated herself for it, she hated herself for letting Regina get to her, but the woman had been doing it since Henry dragged her into the godforsaken town. She wasn’t surprised in the least, but that didn’t mean she had to like it. 

Sighing in defeat, Emma kicked off her boots, throwing herself down onto the bed. She hit the pillow face-first, groaning into it. If there was one thing Emma Swan didn’t like, it was feeling self-conscious, especially when other people knew she was.  It made her feel pathetic, and she bit down hard on the pillow, fabric held tight between her teeth. This was ridiculous; she was laying in bed wallowing in her own insecure delusions. There had to be some way to light up Regina’s eyes with desire, to make her make all those sounds Emma wished she could coax from those red lips. Everyone has a sweet spot, a weakness, something that makes them weak in the knees. Emma had hers, and Regina couldn’t possibly be above kinks. 

With that thought in mind, Emma rolled over. She could do this, she could figure out how to push all the mayor’s buttons. A smirk tugged the corners of her mouth, and she found herself hanging over the side of the bed, reaching frantically beneath it. Her fingertips touched cool plastic, “Yes!” and she pulled it out from the depths beneath the bed. The laptop she’d found on Snow’s coffee table back when she called her Mary Margaret had been her favorite item to borrow. Incognito tabs full of porn had been her reason for needing it, but now she required the little device for serious research. 

She needed ideas, things to go off of, because she wouldn’t allow herself to return Regina’s mansion without a few new tricks up her sleeve. A few quick keystrokes, and Emma ended up backspacing every word she typed into Google. She let her head fall back against the headboard, trying to think. Everyone had kinks--fetishes, Emma did (choking was one hell of a thrill), but what about Regina? She’d always pegged the mayor as the dominatrix type, and she wasn’t very far off from that quarter. Emma remembered times when there would be rope burns on her wrists, bruises on her neck--the motherfucking works. But there was always something missing. She always felt like Regina was holding back, and the theory that she was only fucking her to assert power made Emma’s stomach tie itself into knots. 

But she couldn’t think about that now. 

Swallowing hard, she decided to go for a good ol’ fashioned reference key. In spite of herself, Emma’s cheeks were flushed a faint pink as she moved the cursor over the link that glowed blue, List of paraphilias. 

“Oh, god,” Emma muttered, bracing herself as the page loaded. The highly informative, A-Z list flashed before her eyes, and she took a deep breath before she started to scroll down. 

Agalmatophilia. 

The description on the top of the list made Emma raise an eyebrow. A fetish for statues and mannequins, and immobility, Emma noted. No, that one was definitely not Regina. Autoerotic Asphyxiation caught her eyes, and she found herself wondering if Regina had ever cut off her air supply while furiously working a hand between her legs. 

“Fuck,” she gasped, biting down on her lip at the thought. Moving on. 

Dendrophilia. 

A fetish for trees…? Emma’s jaw went slack, and she remembered how protective Regina was of her apple tree…

No. 

Necrophilia, pyrophilia, sadism--Emma’s eyes stopped scanning the page, and she leaned back further in bed, pushing the laptop off her lap haphazardly. This was quite possibly the worse idea she’d ever had. Nothing was helping, and with each definition she read, she only sank deeper into her own puddle of self-pity. For once in her life, Google wasn’t helping fucking anything. She wanted to throw the laptop at the wall, and watch it smash into dozens of pieces but that wouldn’t solve anything either. It would only cause another altercation with Snow, and Emma didn’t need a lecture from her mother. 

Emma pulled the white comforter over her, settling further down in bed. It was still early, and she knew Regina wouldn’t dare to call her until well past the midnight hour. The wait was damn near unbearable, and she let her eyes drift up towards the ceiling. The fan overhead was spinning slowly, an almost soothing rhythm that Emma couldn’t help but get caught up in. She wondered if it would spin too hard, too fast, too much and break free from the screws that kept it suspended. It would fall, down, down, down and it would crash on top of Emma and it would hurt. 

A fan falling onto her and maybe (hopefully) fatally injuring her was a hell of a lot better than her current situation. 

Emma kept her eyes on the revolving blades, biting down hard on her bottom lip. She could still taste Regina, could still feel traces of arousal sticking to her skin. It just wasn’t fair, she tried so hard, obsessed over different techniques, because honestly, she’d never wanted to please someone as much as she wanted to please Regina. It was terrifying, especially when all of her efforts seemed to be in vain. The blades above her were calming now, repetition soothing her racing thoughts. Perhaps everything would work itself out, she thought. Perhaps she could close her eyes, and wake up to a phone call from the mayor. Then she could drive over to that brilliant, intimidating mansion, and try all over again. 

Perhaps. 

\--

Regina Mills reluctantly pressed the phone against her ear. She cradled it between the crook of her neck and shoulder, tapping her foot impatiently as it started to ring. 

Pick up, pick up, pick up. 

She would not tolerate being ignored, and (with a critical glance at the clock hanging from the wall) she conceded that the bothersome little sheriff (who had shamefully become her booty call) couldn’t possibly be busy on a Thursday evening. Therefore, the phone shouldn’t have rang so many times. 

The ringing finally stopped, the abrupt sound of grunts and someone shifting about beneath blankets and sheets. 

“Yeah?”

Emma Swan’s groggy (attractive) voice filled her ears, and her previous intentions to give the blonde an earful vanished. 

“I’m sorry, Sheriff, did I wake you?”

Her tone was nevertheless sardonic, and she dug her nails into the desk when Emma groaned rather loudly. A part of her hated what Emma made her feel. She wanted that part to be stronger, so she would make the strength forget her number and never call her again. The guilt that settled in the pit of her stomach whenever she watched the other woman sleep peacefully beside her was astounding. Crippling, even, and it weighed on her night and day until Emma’s warm body atop hers provided all the distractions she could ever want. 

“Yeah--I mean, I needed to wake up anyway. So, I guess you did...but you didn’t’...” 

Emma trailed off, daze ramblings turning to ash in the wake of Regina’s mocking laughter. 

“Words have never been your strong suit, Miss Swan,” 

She was purposefully avoiding saying her first name. After the fuss she’d caused over the formal term slipping past Regina’s lips, the mayor really didn’t think she deserved to hear her first name come out of her mouth. 

“Back to formalities again, are we?”

Emma said, the bite in her voice was sharp enough to make Regina flinch. 

“You’re the one who caused a fuss over my choice of names. Until I decide to forgive the altercation, your first name won’t be leaving my mouth.”

“Wanna bet?”

A challenge? Regina raised an eyebrow, reluctant arousal pooling between her thighs at the unspoken promises behind Emma’s words. 

“Name your terms.” 

That was a mistake, she told herself, leaning against the desk. She feared her legs would give in if she didn’t and the thought of falling face-first on the hard marble floors of her office was not appealing.

“I come over, and fuck you until my name is all you’ll be able to say.” 

Straightforward and to the point, Regina admired that. She felt the dampness between her thighs, and couldn’t help the little twitch of her hips. She should have resisted. Her head was filled with all the reasons why this was not okay, but she  tried not to listen to them. She tried to shut them out, to keep them quiet. 

“Hurry. I expect you to deliver, Miss Swan.” 

She hung up, letting the phone drop and clatter to the floor. She clenched and unclenched her fist, biting down so hard on her lip, she feared she’d draw blood. Anxiety swelled within her, and she struggled to take breaths. Each one felt like it was twisting her lungs, trying to wring the oxygen out of them. 

Oh, yes, she told herself, this is a very, very bad idea. 

\--

The knock at her door shouldn’t have made her jump like it did. 

Regina nearly fell off the couch as Emma’s silhouette was visible through the window on the front door. She stood on shaky legs, taking measured steps toward the door. Her hand reluctantly grasped the doorknob, and she gasped as her anxiety reached its peak when she turned it. 

“Good evening, Miss Swan--” 

Emma pushed past her, slamming the door shut. 

“Don’t be so loud--” 

Interrupted again, but this time by Emma’s mouth on her own. The kiss was bruising, rougher than anything Emma had ever given. Teeth found her bottom lip, and Regina exhaled a gasp into Emma’s mouth. Strong hands gripped her hips, forcing her up against the front door. 

“Where is this all coming from?” 

Regina gasped, head falling back as Emma’s lips eagerly sought her neck. Teeth joined those lips, and they sank into her neck without warning. The dull pain urged a moan to push past her lips, but Regina swallowed it. She wasn't about to  give Emma the satisfaction of hearing her noises. Not now, not yet, maybe even not ever. 

Emma didn’t answer her question, and instead busied herself with undoing  the buttons on her blouse. Her fingers were clumsy, and in her frustration to have Regina bare before her, she opted to rip the garment open. Buttons flew every which way, and Regina stared at Emma, jaw slack in shock. 

“Miss Swan!” 

But her protest was swallowed by Emma’s possessive mouth, and it took all of Regina’s self-control not to moan. She steeled herself against the door, nails digging into the wood. She’d never seen Emma this way before, she’d never been touched so aggressively by her hand. It was terribly arousing and terribly wrong, the paradox begging vomit to rise in her throat. She felt so sick, but she was so wet. Her chest rose and fell painfully with every labored breath, hips bucking against Emma’s own as the blonde pressed herself firmly against her. 

“I spent all day trying to figure out what the fuck makes you tick, Madame Mayor,” Emma whispered hotly, breath hitting Regina’s ear and warming her very core. She squirmed, wishing desperately for Emma to take her to bed. 

“And it looks like I’ve hit the nail on the head,” she said, biting down hard on Regina’s earlobe. 

“Miss Swan, I am a lady. Take me to bed if you insist on...manhandling me!” 

A smirk, and Emma grabbed Regina’s forearm. Her grip was a vice, and she recklessly led her up the spiraling staircase. Regina’s pulse was pounding so loud, she swore she could hear it in her ears. She...liked Emma’s demeanor, the dominance, the intensity It was exciting, exhilarating in all the worst ways. But there was still that part of her, the part that nagged and nagged at her, that tore her mind into pieces and injected every piece with doubt. The doubt whispered in her ear, and brought disgust with it. Self-loathing tagged along on disgust’s arm, and from there it all just fell apart. 

Emma threw her down onto the bed, straddling her before Regina could even think about a response. The weight of the woman pressing down onto her was almost more than she could bear. Usually, whenever they fucked, Emma was allowed to lay beside her, or kneel between her legs. Kneeling was the position she preferred to have Emma in, on her knees for the Queen. It was perfectly delicious, even if her orgasms were sub-par. Emma wasn’t a bad lover. On the contrary, her mouth was sinful, and her fingers even better. That wasn’t the problem, and with that in mind, Regina ran her nails up and down Emma’s back, anxious and excited all at once. 

Emma undid the button on her trousers, and hooked her finger in the belt loops before pulling the garment down her hips. Her fingers traced patterns along jutting hip bones the second the skin was exposed. Regina shuddered, struggling to keep the noises still inside her throat. Emma couldn’t hear them, and Regina was beginning to wonder if she’d ever be allowed to. Nails scratched down her hips, down her thighs, before her trousers were tugged the rest of the way off. They were tossed to some unknown corner of the room, and Regina focused on trying to find them in the dark instead on what Emma was doing to her. She didn’t have control here, and that alone was making everything feel like it was closing in around her. She felt claustrophobic, and the desire to shove Emma off her was stronger than her need to get off. 

“Miss Swan,” 

She gasped, shuddering (whether in revulsion or pleasure, she wasn’t sure) as Emma bit down on the waistband of her panties. She looked up at her, tugging the waistband up when she did. She raised an eyebrow, and Regina swallowed hard. 

“I...I can’t.” 

Emma sat up, on her knees between Regina’s legs as she looked down at her with an expression that was really quite pitiful. She cocked her head to the side, looking more like a wounded puppy than any grown woman had a fucking right to. 

“What do you mean…? Did I do something wrong?”

She sounded so sorry, so fucking sorry and Regina almost considered telling her to forget about it and to keep going. 

But she couldn’t. 

“No. I mean, I don’t know. I’m sorry,” she ran her fingers through her tousled hair, scampering away from Emma and pulling her blouse the rest of the way off. She tossed it aside, sliding under the blankets and sheets, looking up at Emma apologetically. 

“Regina, tell me what’s wrong.” 

It wasn’t a request, it was a command, and Regina flinched under the woman’s harsh tone. She didn’t enjoy being spoken to that way (but she tingled anyway), and it almost stunned her into silence.   
“I want to understand,” 

Emma began, crawling into bed beside her. 

“I mean, I can’t just keep guessing here. I’m not a fucking mind reader.”

She didn’t sound angry just exasperated. 

“Miss Swan--Emma, I can’t tell you. Please just...go to sleep.” 

Emma looked stunned, disappointed, concerned, all at once. Her face lit up with so much emotion for the briefest of seconds, before she frowned. She shrugged her shoulders, exhaling loudly and curling up on her side. Emma only ever curled up into a ball when she slept when she was upset. That knowledge made Regina ache, but she couldn’t bring herself to remedy the situation. She wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to. Emma would leave if she knew what Regina wanted. She’d run away and never look back, and she wasn’t sure she’d be able to hold it against her. 

A sigh escaped her lips, and she sat in the dark, in the silence, staring at nothing. Emma’s breathing soon became deep, and she slowly uncurled herself. But she was asleep, and Regina felt more alone than ever. But loneliness loosened her tongue, and she wondered if saying it aloud would make it any better. 

“Emma,” she spoke quietly, not wanting to wake her, “Telling you what I want isn’t...easy. I’m not even sure I want what I think about most.” She trailed off, letting the hushed words hang in the air. 

“When I turned sixteen...oh, I remember it like it was yesterday. My birthdays were always a production. My mother liked to...spoil me.” 

The words dripped off her tongue, and they felt acidic in her mouth. She couldn’t believe she was saying any of this, she couldn’t believe she was admitting it. 

“When the day was over, and I went to bed, my mother came into my bedroom. At first I...well, I didn’t think anything of it! She was my mother. But that night...she didn’t--she didn’t act like it.” 

Tears stung her eyes, and Regina looked over, relieved to find that Emma hadn’t moved an inch since she’d started her dirty little confession. 

“She said it was a birthday present, that I was a woman now, and needed to be touched like one. I thought...it would only happen once. But it didn’t. It happened over...and over again. Until I was married, but even then…” 

She sniffled, using the edge of the blanket to wipe tears from her eyes. 

“I couldn’t stop thinking about it. With men, I’ve always been able to tune the thoughts out. To forget. They don’t remind me...of her. But you...you do. Your lips are so soft. Hers were, too. And you...touch me in all the ways she did, every night for years. And I can’t...I can’t say your name when I finish, Emma. I can’t because every time I open my mouth in that moment--” 

Regina bit down hard on her bottom lip, shaking and gripping fistfuls of the blanket so tightly her knuckles went white. 

“Whenever I open my mouth in that moment,” she repeated, trying again, “it’s not Emma that almost comes out. It’s mommy.” 

That was it, the admission that made her want to die. 

“I know how...how awful it is. I can’t help but miss it! I...I don’t even know if I miss it. I just can’t stop thinking about it. It’s what I’ve come to expect.” 

She settled down deeper into the bed, pulling the blanket over her head. She wished she hadn’t said fucking anything. Admitting it made it real, and now she was sure Emma would never be able to so much as brush past her without remembering her mother.

\--


End file.
